


Dream Walking

by Rayvynheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreaming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayvynheart/pseuds/Rayvynheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>How would Dean and Cas communicate when words are too hard? Maybe in the landscape of dreams and in the language of the dreamer.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dream Walking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charity_Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charity_Angel/gifts).



> How would Dean and Cas communicate when words are too hard? Maybe in the landscape of dreams and in the language of the dreamer.

Dean hears the sound of beating wings in his dreams. No matter what else is happening in that dream (nightmare), no matter what monster he is killing or what mystery he is trying to get to the bottom of or even what soul he is torturing at Alistair’s behest, that rustling, rushing sound brings a sense of peace that makes no sense within the context of the dreaming world. 

The moment those wings alight, and the angel with them, everything else is blown away, like chaff. Dean’s sleeping soul is thirsty for his angel. Such a sweet sensation, these feelings.

Dean knows he can only enjoy those things in his secret slumber. If he were ever to reveal these feelings to the angel, he couldn’t bear the rebuff that would surely follow. The awkward rejection, because when wasn’t Cas awkward? And what if the worst thing happened? What if Cas left? Because Dean showed him his yearning desire?

Dean would rather spend another 40 years in hell that even a single day without Cas.

He says nothing to the angel. Yet every night he looks forward to sleep in a way that a person plagued by nightmares never has. Only in slumber can he see his angel and delight in the beating of wings.

  


Dean is dreaming again.

He is behind the wheel of the Impala. Trees are rushing past the windows, so he knows he is probably on the edges of the country, as opposed to the open plains that characterize the Midwest. The trees are tall, dark conifers. The open window lets in a breeze that feels cool and slightly wet. Perhaps he’s in Oregon or even Washington. The air feels like the Pacific Northwest.

The road in front of him is not straight. It curves to the left. As he takes the curve, black steel hugging the road, he leans to the right. Just a slight tilt, but it prompts him to glance towards the passenger seat to see if it is empty, or filled to overflowing with his giant brother.

The glance will be enough to ascertain if his mood is happy with an undercurrent of annoyance that only siblings can illicit or if he is filled with anxiety and worry gnawing at his guts. These are the only possibilities-either his brother is with him and he is happy, or his brother is absent and he is anxious. It’s the Dean Winchester default settings when it comes to Sam.

What Dean feels instead of either of these extremes is a flutter in his stomach and a quickening of his heartbeat. It’s not Sammy sitting in the seat, but the seat is far from empty.

The angel, _his angel,_ is there, but like usual, he is so outside the world that it’s almost as if he isn’t filling the seat.

Dean is distracted by the sensations in his torso. His heart feels like it is straining to get out of its Enochian-engraved cage. It’s not fear, not now, not with Castiel. It is something richer and darker and ever so much sweeter. No, it’s not fear at all. But Dean can’t exactly name the feeling.

It’s like when you see someone you know in an unfamiliar context. It takes you a moment to make sense of what you are seeing--to connect the person in front of you with the place or circumstance you know them from. This is what is happening to Dean right now. He knows this feeling, it’s similar to what he sometimes feels when he sees Sam. But it’s somehow more than that. It’s…it’s just more.

Because this is a dream, and because Dean knows he can’t be blamed for what he does or thinks or says in dreams, he allows himself to acknowledge the stirring in his groin at the sight of the angel. He doesn’t remember the first time this happened, but lately, it seems like every time he sees Cas, he has to fight against an embarrassing situation “coming up”, so to speak.

In sleeping, Dean doesn’t bother to deny the intense attraction he feels for the angel. It’s not the first time Dean has noticed a man, but it is the first time he’s noticed a celestial being that is a man. Or in a man’s vessel. Dean doesn’t always know where Jimmy Novak ends and Cas begins.

Maybe Jimmy ended a long time ago. Dean doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter, really, since this is only a dream.

Dean knows he’ll wake up rock hard and aching for release. The thing of it is, he isn’t just aching for release. He’s aching for the angel. He’s always aching for him. Missing him. Wanting him by his side. Like he is right now in this dreamscape.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean would give anything to hear that gravelly voice every morning and every night and all the minutes in between for the rest of his life.

“Hi, Cas”

He’ll content himself with dreaming.

For now.

  


Castiel sometimes can’t stop himself from visiting Dean while he’s dreaming. He knows how his presence calms Dean. He worries he’s violating some sort of unspoken code, but he enjoys giving Dean what little peace he is able to.

If it is one of the rare times Dean isn’t walking in a nightmare, Cas counts himself lucky. Dean happy and relaxed is a breath-taking sight. It’s one Castiel guards jealously.

Whenever Castiel meets Dean’s gaze, it’s as if all the millennia spent watching from the outside flashes before his eyes in an instant. The years of observing mankind struggle and heave against their fate has converged on this one man.

He is beautiful to behold.

Cas knows Dean isn’t ready yet. Even though he longs to tell the hunter all that’s in his heart, he has learned a little something about timing when it comes to these short-lived mortals. It doesn’t make sense to Castiel-they have such a brief time between breathing their first and their last. Why aren’t they filling every single moment with action? With life? But they don’t. Instead they plod along, waiting, watching, until some golden moment arrives. Until the “timing” is right. To Castiel, these moments all resemble each other, and he has no idea how he will tell the right one from the wrong one.

But he’s willing to wait. He knows far too much hinges on this—this whatever it is with Dean, to rush his hunter.

Maybe Castiel is the hunter now, stalking his prey, stalking his Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> For Charity_Angel. 
> 
> Dreams are important and mysterious and where things can be felt and said without fear of recrimination. Perhaps we should all be dream-walkers.


End file.
